Surrender
The Journey Beyond Overcoming
Right before my first acupuncture appointment of 2024, I itched with anxiety. I craved relief and knew the right place to find it.
Last June, I published, "Ying & Yang: Working to Regulate" which detailed my introduction to holistic medicine to relieve chronic pain. At the time, acupuncture was still a new addition to my life. Now, it’s a routine staple.
The practitioner and I exchange greetings as I enter through the front door. Taking my time, I move to the back of the space and politely place my belongings amongst others. Coats are hung, shoes come off, and bags find a spot on the shelf.
As I slowly open the door to the treatment area, I always read the sign reminding me to enter quietly. Scanning the dimly lit room, I notice fellow patrons resting in their recliners. A gentle rush of air causes some to flex instinctively. Others remain still— deep in rest.
I creep softly to an empty recliner and begin to settle in. To the right of the armchair, atop a rolling stool is a grey container for accouterments. My pockets are emptied, my socks come off, and my phone is silenced. Lavender is faintly diffusing in the air, and soft binaural beats play through two small Bluetooth speakers on a shelf. I take it all in— leaning back in the armchair, remembering my breath.
The practitioner always enters with gentle and eager confidence. As she greets me, she reclines the seat back so that my legs fully extend. The container with my items is kindly placed on the floor next to me so she can sit, and begin treatment. She asks for any updates about my overall health. Then, with cold, soft hands, the practitioner rolls up my sleeves and pants carefully to strategically insert thin needles all over my head, arms, legs, feet, neck, earlobes, and hands. Just a sharp pinch, and then she’s on to the next pressure point. She always offers blankets and I always accept. As she lays the last blanket on me, she whispers, “Enjoy your rest,” before she walks back through that door with the printed reminder.
Now, everything is put away, and I’ve reached the moment I was itching for— the surrender.
This moment of surrender echoes a broader theme in my life.
Last year, progress meant embracing release— a concept I have grappled with since childhood. Growing up as a Liberian refugee in the US made me reluctant to discard anything, even unhealthy patterns. Surviving an unstable household is less rewarding than it seems. Few understand how difficult is to unlearn what is so necessary to survive.
For the majority of my life, living a double life felt oddly normal. Despite an outward appearance of perfection, I recognized a lovelessness within my home. With education and excellence as priorities above authentic connection with others, our family of imposters easily passed under the radar. My authoritarian parents attributed their lack of unconditional love and support to our cultural background and strict Christian beliefs. Any form of self-expression my parents disliked incited lectures, comparisons, and insults. Although I tried to advocate for myself and insist that everyone else did not live like this, I was continually shut down. This was supposedly, “normal.”
Yet, I knew healthy and attainable relationships did exist because I saw them in movies and real life. Feeling like an imposter felt isolating. My family instructed me to keep what happens in our home a secret so I confided in only a handful of friends about my family and emotions. For the most part, suppressing it all and projecting a hyper-independent and helpful persona felt draining. I truly did not know myself.
To abide by my family’s narrow world view and unsure of my identity, I made friends by mirroring those that gained my parents’ approval. I clung to those around me like lifelines, unsure of myself without constant reassurance. Regardless of the relationship’s authenticity and impact, I projected the fears of abandonment and judgment onto anyone in my sphere. Frankly, it is painful to sit with my failures.
Even now, the critical voices that I hear in my head belong to my mother and father. They tell me I’m not enough— grateful enough, doing enough, or worthy enough to love just as I am. I have always imagined carving out a life for myself, but I never imagined all the personal work I would have to do to accomplish my goals. Shedding the shame associated with choosing myself has not been easy– much of it still feels like heartbreak.
As I learn to leave behind what doesn't serve me, I am reminded of the loved ones and relationships where those who love me do show up for me and permit me to express my full self. I’m not expected to be the person I pretended to be for so long, but I am celebrated for asking for support in my growth and survival. Unveiling my true self to those who make me feel safe is terrifying and rewarding, all at the same time. And I’m ready to embrace all that comes with writing new narratives for myself and surrendering to what the universe has to offer.
Just like in that acupuncture chair, surrendering becomes the path to relief, growth, and a better self.
"Few understand how difficult is to unlearn what is so necessary to survive." Oooh yep. That hits.
I really enjoyed reading this and really resonated with your experience with your family's expectations and the missing room for self expression. I'll definitely be reading this again and continuing to sit with it. Thank you for sharing yourself!